The Unbroken Broadcast
The recording screen on the wall did not turn off.
Even after the containment room's stabilizer lights went dark and the black debris was sealed away as repair materials, a single red dot remained active in the corner of the workshop's ceiling.
Cha Yu-ri was the first to notice it.
"Why is that still turned on?" she asked.
The workshop technician's face stiffened.
"That is the internal camera for accident recording," he stammered. "It automatically records when the containment room overloads. It isn't supposed to broadcast externally. Normally, that is."
Normally.
As soon as he finished speaking, text flashed across the wall screen.
1. Kang Tae-san in Danger
2. Silent Thunder Rampage
3. Workshop Accident
Han Mi-rae held up her phone.
"The internal network has been breached from the outside," she said. "Someone hijacked the accident recording and converted it into a live broadcast feed."
Cha Yu-ri's hands froze over my bandages.
"Is the patient's face being shown?" she asked, her voice sharp.
"It is," Han Mi-rae replied, her voice dropping. "Right down to the blood-stained bandages."
I looked at the screen.
The footage of me suppressing Silent Thunder had been cut halfway through. The preceding part where Oh Min-hyeok tampered with the stabilizer pin was missing; it started right from the moment I stepped past the containment line. The captions scrolling across the screen were even faster.
Cha Yu-ri marched toward the ceiling camera.
"Keep the recording," she ordered. "But shut down the broadcast immediately."
The man monitoring the broadcasting equipment raised his hands defensively.
"Informing the public of on-site danger is a matter of public interest," he argued. "The viewers have a right to know—"
"A patient's blood is not a matter of public interest," Yu-ri cut him off. Her words were short and absolute.
Just then, the workshop door swung open.
A white scabbard entered first.
It was Baek Ha-rin.
She glanced at the camera, the screen, and then my bandages before letting out a soft chuckle.
"It's noisier here than in the sparring ring," she remarked.
Cha Yu-ri immediately stepped in front of her, blocking her path.
"Authorized personnel only," Yu-ri said coldly.
"I was invited," Ha-rin replied smoothly.
"This isn't the evaluation match anymore. He is undergoing medical treatment."
"That's exactly why I came. This is the kind of place where words stab deeper than swords."
Baek Ha-rin didn't draw her sword. Instead, she used the tip of her scabbard to nudge the black dust scattered on the floor. The dust drifted, seemingly drawn toward the camera cables.
Her eyes narrowed.
"That isn't just a standard broadcast cable," she murmured.
Han Mi-rae immediately zoomed in on the screen.
"There's another signal inside the transmitter," Mi-rae said. "They aren't just extracting the workshop records. They're actively tampering with the residual pressure."
Lee Na-gyeong raised her terminal.
"Inspecting the broadcasting equipment," Na-gyeong announced in her dry, official tone. "Everyone, keep your hands where I can see them."
At that moment, one of the assistant staff members froze.
His hand was gripping a palm-sized transmitter. A blue light pulsed inside the device, and the black bead sealed on the containment disc trembled in sync with the light.
I gripped Silent Thunder.
Cha Yu-ri's gaze immediately snapped to my hand.
"Mr. Kang Tae-san," she warned.
"It's heading toward the people," I said simply.
A thread-thin wisp of black mana shot out from the black bead. It wasn't aiming for the camera. It was heading straight for the wrist of the assistant holding the transmitter. The man stood paralyzed, unable to even drop the device.
Baek Ha-rin moved.
She didn't draw her sword. The tip of her white scabbard slipped in front of the assistant's arm, intercepting the black thread and delaying it by a fraction of a second.
Seizing the opening, Cha Yu-ri grabbed the assistant's hand and forced it down.
"Let go. Now," she commanded.
The transmitter clattered to the floor.
The black thread grew thicker.
I took a step forward.
I didn't swing Silent Thunder. I merely set it down, propping it upright on top of the transmitter.
Thud.
The floor didn't crack. Instead, the blue light inside the transmitter was instantly crushed and extinguished. The black thread scraped against Silent Thunder once before immediately retracting back into its device.
Crack.
The center of the transmitter split wide open.
The assistant's wrist was completely unharmed.
That was the first thing that happened.
Next, the screen changed.
The malicious captions vanished, replaced by the raw, unedited footage. The scene of Oh Min-hyeok reaching for the stabilizer pin. The scene of Lee Na-gyeong twisting his wrist. The scene of me stepping past the containment line and pinning the debris to the floor. And finally, the scene just now, where the transmitter tampered with the residual pressure.
The severed footage was reconnected.
The noise in the workshop briefly died down.
Han Mi-rae was the first to smile.
"The original is always more expensive than the edited version," she remarked. "It seems I won't have to buy it out today. Everyone is already watching it anyway."
The broadcast official's face turned pale.
"We were only setting up the connection as instructed—" he stammered.
"If you tell us who gave the order, we might show some leniency," Han Mi-rae said. "If you don't, I will set a price for this. A very, very high one."
Cha Yu-ri knelt in front of the assistant.
"Are you hurt anywhere?" she asked gently.
"N-no, I'm fine."
"Even if you aren't physically hurt, sit down. Shock makes you a patient too."
At her words, the assistant's eyes welled with tears. He stared not at the shattered transmitter, but at his own hand—the very spot the black thread had almost touched.
"I was just told to turn it on..." he whispered.
Lee Na-gyeong immediately pressed him.
"Who gave the order?" she demanded.
"I don't know their exact name," the assistant sniffled. "But there was a guild authentication key inside the transmitter."
Han Mi-rae handed over an envelope.
"I've already copied the data," Mi-rae said. "Before they could delete it."
Baek Ha-rin blocked the broadcast official's path with her scabbard.
"Save the running for later," she teased. "The exit is a bit narrow right now."
Cha Yu-ri looked up.
"I thought you said you weren't drawing your sword," Yu-ri said.
"A scabbard is perfectly fine for blocking paths, isn't it?" Ha-rin replied.
"Do not register it for such ridiculous uses."
"If you medically forbid it, I'll think about it."
Their banter clashed back and forth.
In that brief window, my hand instinctively tightened around Silent Thunder's grip. The residual pressure still lingering inside the transmitter was scraping against my palm.
Without even looking, Cha Yu-ri pressed down on the back of my hand.
"Let go. It's over," she said.
"There's still a little left," I replied.
"What's left is evidence. It doesn't belong in your body."
Her words stopped me in my tracks.
I released my grip on Silent Thunder.
Han Mi-rae watched this and tilted her head slightly.
"Tae-san, did you actually just listen to her?" she asked.
"I heard her," I muttered.
"This scene is more precious than any contract," Mi-rae teased.
Cha Yu-ri immediately interjected.
"Do not put this in any contract," Yu-ri warned.
"I haven't even said anything yet," Mi-rae replied innocently.
"When you don't say anything, Ms. Mi-rae, that's when you're at your most dangerous."
Baek Ha-rin chuckled softly.
"This is fun," Ha-rin said. "No one is fighting, yet everyone is cutting each other down."
I looked at the screen.
The comments were shifting.
The claims that I was dangerous hadn't vanished entirely, but other messages were rising beneath them.
A single small crack had overturned the board they had tried to hide.
There had been no grand explosion, nor had any enemy fallen. Yet, the severed scenes were reconnected, and the label of "danger" was slowly peeling away from me.
Yun Seo-ah was standing near the workshop entrance.
She wasn't looking at the camera. Instead, her gaze was fixed on the assistant and the families of the victims sitting nearby.
"Talk about dissolving the partnership later," she said, her voice quiet but firm.
"Don't use that piece of paper to frame a broadcast that tears someone down."
The broadcast official couldn't find his tongue.
I looked at Seo-ah.
She hadn't stepped forward to save me. Instead, she had drawn a line in the sand where someone was trying to exploit my past. That was the most precise thing she could do right now.
Lee Na-gyeong sealed the remains of the transmitter.
"Inducing false broadcasting. Unauthorized exposure of patient and victim faces. Agitating residual pressure via guild authentication key," she listed off. "We will secure all related individuals."
Her words were brief. The debris proved the truth far faster than any screen could.
Baek Ha-rin stepped in front of me.
"You didn't just take the hit and endure it," she noted.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"You chose exactly where to take the blow. Just like you did just now."
Cha Yu-ri immediately cut in.
"Don't romanticize it," Yu-ri snapped. "The patient will only copy you."
"He's already doing it," Ha-rin pointed out.
"Which is exactly why you shouldn't encourage him!"
Instead of answering, Baek Ha-rin propped up her scabbard.
Cha Yu-ri held up the bandages.
One wanted to see how I endured, while the other looked first to see where I was torn.
Neither backed down.
I spoke up briefly.
"Yu-ri first."
Cha Yu-ri's hands paused.
Baek Ha-rin's eyebrows arched.
"And after that?" Ha-rin asked.
"Make sure I don't get hurt," I said.
"Are you saying that to me, or to the doctor?"
Cha Yu-ri gripped the bandages tightly. "If you say both, I'm going to get angry."
I thought about it for a moment.
"Then not both," I replied. "Just Yu-ri for now."
This time, the workshop grew even quieter.
Han Mi-rae pressed her lips together. Baek Ha-rin's smile faltered for a split second before she nudged the split transmitter with the tip of her scabbard.
"Fine," Ha-rin said. "I'll yield for today."
Cha Yu-ri took my arm and guided me toward the treatment room.
"You're slightly better with your words today," she murmured.
"Only slightly?" I asked.
"If you get too good at it, I'm afraid you'll start running around again."
A final comment remained on the wall screen.
I didn't look at the sentence for long.
I hadn't stood there to prove I wasn't trash.
I had simply blocked a signal that was heading toward a person.
But the screen did not quiet down easily.
Even after the raw footage was released, people only clipped and watched the parts they wanted to see. Some replayed only the moment I brought Silent Thunder down on the transmitter. Others zoomed in on Cha Yu-ri's hand blocking the camera. Someone else saw Baek Ha-rin's scabbard and titled their clip as if a duel were about to begin.
Han Mi-rae scrolled through the list before flipping her phone face down.
"If we try to block everything, it will only blow up more," Mi-rae said. "Let's target just one thing today."
"What is that?" Yu-ri asked.
"The patient's face. The victim's face. We start with the side that sold those out."
There was no trace of a smile on her face.
Baek Ha-rin squatted in front of the broken transmitter. She reached out to poke the debris with the tip of her scabbard, but stopped when she caught Cha Yu-ri's glare.
"I'm not touching it," Ha-rin said. "Just looking."
"The way you look at things always makes me anxious, like you're about to draw your sword," Yu-ri sighed.
"Your patient gets hit before he even draws his," Ha-rin countered.
"Which is exactly why I'm so anxious!"
Listening to their bickering, I let out a dry chuckle.
Cha Yu-ri immediately whipped her head around.
"Do you think laughing means you aren't in pain?" she scolded.
"Not really," I said.
"Then keep laughing all the way to the treatment room."
Baek Ha-rin rested her scabbard over her shoulder.
"That doctor is sharper than a sword," Ha-rin remarked.
Han Mi-rae murmured softly, "Sometimes I think she's scarier than a contract."
Ignoring them both, Cha Yu-ri took my arm.
"Right now, your blood comes before any broadcast," she said.
Her words sounded strangely loud to me.
To her, a single streak of blood on my arm mattered more than the screen that tens of thousands of people had been watching just moments ago.
I nodded.
"Understood," I said.
"It's good that you're quick to answer, but you'd better be just as quick next time," she warned.
The wall screen finally went dark.
However, deep inside the shattered remains of the transmitter, an incredibly faint signal was still blinking. Han Mi-rae's face hardened as she saw it.
"This isn't the end," Mi-rae said. "Another signal has leaked deeper inside."
Lee Na-gyeong raised her terminal.
"Tracking it now."
Target Location: Association Underground Storage Room
Sector: B-3